


Icarus and Apollo

by KianaB



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Drama, Falling In Love, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-01-25 02:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21348592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KianaB/pseuds/KianaB
Summary: Everyone knows the story of Icarus: the boy who was given the gift of flight by his father and flew too close to the sun, and therefore perished.But what if there more to this story then what was originally thought?
Relationships: Apollo/Icarus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	1. One

__1__

He was a small, dark boy. With dark brown eyes and shaggy black hair. Wise beyond his years. It helped, of course, that his father was the genius of the age.  
His father worked in the palace. Creating and creating and creating. Making and making and making. Creating and making whatever the king demanded of him. In return he was given serving women - one of which was the boys’ mother - with room and board and food to eat. His father: a tall, pale, and calculating man. With a soft spot for pretty girls with dark hair.  
When the boy was young he felt drawn to the sky. Drawn to the big open blue of summer and spring. How the sun would shine on him through the day and tan his skin an even deeper brown. He would spend all of his moments laying in the grass, swimming in the sea, and walking in the sand; never growing cold. The sun would hold him, wrap him up and keep him warm. And life was good.  
As he grew older his ingenious for sketching and the workings of machinery became noticeable. By his father, and the younger women of the court, “You are seventeen my boy, high time we found you a pretty young girl to marry.”, his father would say. His grey, calculating eyes mentally pairing him with the best matches he could find.  
“Yes, father.”, the boy would reply. But only to ward off his fathers’ proposals and run back out into the sun.  
He would sit with his sketchbook, drawing pictures of the boys in court. With their high collars and stiff necks. Their empty eyes, lighting up only when they saw him looking at them. Some with fury, some with curiosity, and some with lust. The curious eyes made him curious back, but there was no time or place for that with his father constantly watching over his shoulder. The furious eyes made him scared and he would look away and not look back.  
His favorites were the lustful eyes. They made him blush and avert his gaze. But he could not help but look back at them. Some would still be staring and when that happened, he would let his gaze linger until they looked away. He wished sometimes that they wouldn’t look away from him. That they would fall, deeper and deeper, into whatever lit up within him when they peered in.  
All the boys he had seen had - at one time or another - been attending one of the many parties the King would hold at his own court. But tonight was going to be very different. Tonight, they were going to the gods. 

The boy had been bathed, oiled, and scented by one of the serving women allotted to him and his father. She was pretty, with large blue eyes and pale hair. And the boy could sense her eyes lingering on him while he bathed. But his mind was elsewhere, within the lustful eyes of the young man he had spoken to at court the other night. His eyes had been bright green, and they had lingered on the boys mouth as they spoke.  
When he was done he waited for his father so that when he arrived they would join the King’s procession upwards to the Holy Palace of the gods. While he waited, he found his mind drifting away, getting lost in his memories. He was trying to ignore how uncomfortable he felt in his pure white robe, trimmed with gold and silver. The band around his left arm was too tight, the metal cutting into his skin. And he could not fathom why anyone would attach gold straps to his leather sandals. He felt too clean, suffocated by the heavy stone walls of the palace, and he longed for the sun.  
“Boy,” he heard his father’s voice and blinked, falling somewhat heavily back into the present, “tonight I want you to remain silent. We have only been invited because the King honors my abilities. You may be a quick witted young man, but this night is not meant for you."  
His father had come towards him as he spoke. Somehow he looked comfortable in all the ceremonial garb. Bright white robe, gold trimming, and it seemed his shoes were well suited to him, even with the gold straps.  
“Yes, father.” the boy said. The standard reply. He knew how to be the quiet son of a genius standing in the corner, speaking only when spoken to. That way his father could tell people of his own accomplishments while bragging about his son’s inherited genius. But never mentioning his son’s lack of interest towards women. Or romance, for that matter.  
The boy knew his father had seen his sketchbooks, had seen how he looked at the boys in court. He knew that his father disapproved. But he would not lie, he would not pretend to like the serving girls who looked so longingly upon him. He would not pretend to enjoy the stares he received from the older women in court. He knew there were many good families with beautiful daughters waiting for his proposal, and that if he did propose he would be brought into a high ranking family where he could receive every comfort he ever wanted.  
But the eyes. The curious, furious, lustful eyes. Blue, green, grey, brown, hazel. They drew him in and drowned him like the blue sky above him in the spring. Like the warm ocean sea. Like the sun, warm and beautiful.  
He looked up into his father’s grey eyes, ever calculating, ever thinking. And he could see nothing except the mechanical whirring of judgement. Every move his father made in court was calculated down to the last minutiae. The boy knew that his feelings were an unknown - even unnatural - variable in his father’s mind. And they would not matter when it came to deciding on his partner, or where that decision would land him in the court of the King.  
All this flowed through the boys mind as they walked down the castle hallway and into the procession of the King’s court. One hundred humans had been chosen from the court to follow the king into the Holy Palace, upwards to the gods. It was a great honor that the boy and his father had been invited, that was not mistaken. Olympus was a thing of mystery, of power. Of beauty and chaos and creation. It was where the gods reigned over the humans, where they decided who lived and who died. The gods themselves were a mystery, only visiting the humans when their urges got the best of them. They were eternal, gigantic, bored creatures who had their fun with humanity and did not stay long enough to see the outcome of their actions. They were fascinating; and if the records were correct, endlessly beautiful.  
The boy had never seen a god with his own eyes, but he had heard all the stories. And although he had never met one he gave his thanks to Helios every day for their journey across the sky. For keeping him warm and happy in the summer. He would thank Demeter, and Persephone as well. For his love of spring and the warmth the two goddesses brought to the world.  
The journey to Olympus went by in a blur, and the boy assumed some magic was involved. It would be an unwise decision to allow humans to see the way to Olympus. The gods wouldn’t want their beautiful home becoming crowded with the little mortals from all the way down on Earth.  
In what seemed like minutes the procession had arrived at the gates. The boy looked around him, and noticed that many of the people were blinking and shaking their heads as if they’d just woken from a dream. Except his father. He was staring straight up towards the gates that towered above him, his grey eyes clear as ever.  
The gates were humongous. The boy didn’t even venture a guess as to how tall they were. It seemed as if they were made of pure gold, and they extended out of thin air. He waited. The boy was patient. Things tended to unravel properly if you waited for them to do so.  
When what appeared to be a man floated over the gates, it felt like it had been an eternity for the crowd standing there. The boy looked up, and he squinted a little. This was obviously not a man, his olive skin glowed a little too brightly to be mortal. And of course, he was flying by the wings of his shoes.  
“Hermes…” muttered one of the women standing next to the boy.  
Well obviously, he thought. Who would the gods send but their own messenger to welcome their human entertainment for the evening?  
Hermes landed with a soft thud, the wings on his shoes ruffling into place and then remaining still. The boy could feel himself flushing. Hermes was beautiful, more beautiful than any court boy he had ever seen. Were all the gods like this?  
The herald of the gods was tall, olive skinned, and the boy could see that his black hair was tinged with blue where the light reflected off of it. Hermes was running long, delicate fingers through it to get it out of his eyes. He was wearing a pale grey toga, belted with black rope at his waist. It was incredibly flattering. It showed his bare arms, which were large with muscle. It seemed every high point of the gods’ skin was brushed with a silver hue, and when he looked up, the boy swallowed out of nervousness. His face was all sharp edges. Straight nose, pointed chin, and black eyebrows that cut across his brow. The gods’ eyes were a bright silver color with an intensity the boy had never encountered before. These eyes weren’t curious, lustful, or filled with fury. They were sure. Confident. Accurate.  
Before they had arrived the boy had been excited, happy even, to be going to Olympus. But his feelings had been muted. He couldn’t help but hope that the night would be over quickly so he could get home and under the sun with his sketchbook and his daydreams. But any ideas he had once had about this night were eradicated by the utterly beautiful god that stood before them. If all the male gods looked this way, the boy didn’t know how he was going to get through this night without making a disgrace of himself. Someone would notice his flushed cheeks, his eyes filled with desire for something he had never had - even on Earth. And while the boy was proud, and knew the gods had no qualms about these kinds of desires, he knew his father would be mortified.  
“Hello,” Hermes said, and within his voice the boy could hear wind over mountaintops, “hello, my mortal friends.” he smiled on the last word, and it was razor edged.  
“Tonight you will wine, dine, and converse with the immortals of your world. But do not be afraid, my dears. Tonight is for celebration, for fun. For...entertainment.” the gods’ eyebrows quirked suggestively on that last word, and the boy could hear the women giggling nervously around him.  
Hermes continued, “Tonight will be a night you are not likely to forget. So come forth, come join me. I will lead you onwards, and upwards.” on his last word the gates behind him swung open.  
“And be welcome,” the god said, “to Olympus.”


	2. Two

Mt. Olympus was less of a mountain, and more of a great open hall. With marble pillars that seemed to extend into an open sky. The floor was marble as well, with golden veins running through it all. Hermes lead the kings progression down a long hallway, and the boy could see forests and oceans to the left and right of him. It was beautiful. Like looking down on everything amazing about his world.   
He caught glimpses of satyrs and forest nymphs, but none of them were close enough for him to see details. It was incredible. The environment was changing around them constantly. The boy could see the rest of the mortals looking around in astonishment and he was happy to note that he wasn’t the only one who looked shocked.   
Finally they made it into what seemed to be the main “court”, as it were. It looked to be able to hold well over the one hundred humans who had been invited. There was a circle of pillars around the main pavilion, and there was music coming from an unseen source. A little ways in front of them the boy could see twelve thrones. One was made of white opal, a myriad of colors running through it where the light reflected off of it. The one to the right of it was of diamond, two were of silver, and the rest were gold. The boy noticed that one of the gold thrones shone a little brighter than the rest, and though it was far away, he could feel a familiar warm sensation.   
Hermes turned around and smiled wickedly, “As you all know, the gods are fickle, and often late. Please, get comfortable. Food will arrive shortly,” on these words tables appeared around the pavilion, covered with every food imaginable, “as will entertainment.”, the unseen music grew louder, and faster in tempo.   
“I must leave you for a moment,” said Hermes, as if assuring a child, “but please, enjoy as much food and drink as you like. And do not worry, we will not keep you here if you happen to eat a pomegranate.” he winked, and the wings on his sandals came back to life to fly him away.  
The boy watched him drift off with wondering eyes, his apprehension gone. He wanted to see the gods. And the goddesses. But if every god were as handsome as Hermes, he knew his sketchbook would be filled with his best work. His hands were twitching already with the need to draw.  
The King’s procession split apart in a scattered group to explore the food on the tables. The King himself took his few trusted guards over to one that was nearby. The boy looked over to see his father staring at him. His cold, grey eyes looked hot with anger. And the boy was afraid.   
“Shall we grab something to drink, father?” the boy asked, hesitantly. He was worried. His father never looked angry. He waited tensely for his father’s reply, and when it came it was not what he expected.   
His father spoke quietly. Quietly enough that the people moving around them would not hear, “Remember boy, whatever is done in this hall follows us back down into the mortal world. Do not disgrace our family with your...unseemly desires.” his lips curled around the words, as if he were disgusted by the mere impression of his thoughts, “The gods may approve but they are immortal, immoral creatures, unworried about a mortal court. I will not have my son ruin my life’s work and ambition because of his reckless wants.”   
The boy was stunned. He could not speak, even to defend himself. He had known. Had never hidden his sketches or his face in court from his father. He had known his father had disapproved, hated it, even. But never had his father said it so knowingly, so boldly. This here was an outright statement. A declaration that the boy would never have the life he wished for. That he was wrong. That he was nothing but a pawn for his father to play in a never ending game of chess towards power, where the King held the opposing pieces.   
He looked into his father’s eyes, and slowly, the heat of his anger faded away. The chilling, calculative gaze was back. At a normal volume, his father continued in a light tone, “Yes, my son. Let us go see what the holy gods have offered to us, their humble servants.”, and he walked past the boy towards a table laid with delicacies from the gods.   
The boy swallowed again, his mouth dry from fear. And he followed. 

The party was fantastic. The food delicious and the drinks rich with flavor. The gods filed into the party individually, so as not to overwhelm the sweet little humans who had been invited to entertain them for the evening.   
The humans watched in awe every time one of the gods appeared. The first to arrive was Hestia. A tall, pale, and sober looking goddess. Her hair reached all the way down to her fingers and it was straight as an arrow. The dress she wore in her mortal form had long tight fitting sleeves and it was simple, tapering only slightly at the waist, with a dark brown color. The crowd quieted when her dark eyes looked upon them, and they all bowed when she entered, appearing at the side of the pavilion as if she had been there all night. The boy was close enough to see that her cheekbones were high, and sharp, with a slight flush upon them. The respect for the goddess of the hearth was a heavy thing within the room, and it only dissipated when Hestia bestowed a smile of immense warmth upon the crowd, “Hello, my friends, my loves.” and her voice sounded like a mother, comforting her beloved child.  
Hephaestus entered next, the sound of his metal leg ringing out against the marble. Although not a classically handsome man, the boy was still taken aback by the different forms that beauty could take. Unlike the razor sharp beauty of Hermes, or the inexperienced handsomeness of a boy at court, Hephaestus was a large, rough looking man within his mortal form. With pockmarked cheeks and singed beard hair. His metal leg went all the way up to his hip, and the gears that spun in it had the boy’s mind racing with possibilities. His hands were large, and calloused. His skin tanned and dark from working near flames. This here was not a god who would treat you gently should you get in his way.   
Athena and Ares arrived together, and the god and goddess of war complimented each other in their chosen forms. Athena had what seemed to be a mane of curled, golden, untamed hair. She held a large copper spear beside her, and she was wearing a russet colored tunic that bared her arms and legs, with shoulder plates and chest armour to match. She had one of her arms looped through Ares’ elbow with restraint. The boy could see it was corded thickly with muscle, and when he dared to look into her face he saw a pair of fierce rust colored eyes looking into the crowd. She was magnificent to behold.   
Ares was taller than Athena in his mortal form, and he was almost twice the size of her. His skin was pale, which made the multitudes of scars along his massive arms stand out. He was wearing an all black tunic, with black leather sandals laced all the way up his calves. He had black chest armor, but otherwise his only accessory was a large black shield he held in the arm that was not being restrained by his sister goddess. His neck was thick, his jawline wide and sharp. He had dark, almost black eyes that peered into the crowd with a ferocity that made the boys heart pump loudly in his chest.   
Demeter arrived shortly after, her hair a pale yellow with light hazel eyes that almost matched. She seemed muted, her hair, eyes, skin and dress all being the same color. But she was tall, and her presence was comforting. The boy could recognize the spring in this pantheon of gods.   
Next to arrive was Aphrodite, and the boy noticed some of the women, and most of the men - even his father - flushing and growing excited when she entered. Her mortal form was a short, hourglass shaped woman wearing a simple low necked, cream colored toga belted at the waist. The cream color complimented her smooth, caramel toned skin. Her black, tightly coiled hair sprung out from her scalp, and within it sat a simple crown of blue flowers. Her skin was dusted with freckles, the majority of them on her face. She had a small, rounded nose with full, rose colored lips. And her eyes, her eyes were marvelous. They were a bright, icy blue color, and yet they were somehow filled with warmth. The boy could understand why some of the men in this room would fall immediately to the whims of this particular goddess.   
The boy felt a similar reaction from the women in the room when Posiedon arrived, and he understood fully. The god of the sea was a large, olive skinned man with tribal tattoos running all along his torso and arms, which were bare. He had on simple, brown leather pants with no sandals. In his left hand he held the bright, coral green trident he used as his weapon. The boy’s cheeks were flushed when he looked upon the god of the sea, and his legs started trembling. This god was beautiful, and immense. He looked upon the crowd with eyes the dark grey color of the sea before a storm, and the boy would forgive the god of drowning him if he could get lost in them.   
After these gods had arrived, they all sat down in their thrones. Hermes came back and assured the mortals that they could continue on with the evenings activities while waiting for the remaining gods to appear. Zues, Hera, and Helios would be along at any moment.   
It took an hour or so after all the gods sat for the humans to continue on with the party, but they had no choice. The gods were looking down at them with great amusement. Athena had sat in one of the silver thrones, and the rest had taken their seats in the golden ones. The boy could guess who would be sitting in the white opal, and diamond thrones. But that meant the other silver throne, and the gold throne that shone a little brighter than the rest were still empty. And he could not figure out who would be sitting in either.   
The boy and his father had been making polite conversation with everyone around them except each other. The boy could still not fathom what his father had said to him, but the distress had been lessened by the sight of all the glorious gods. And the boy had been right, every single god he had seen had been just as beautiful - if not more so - than Hermes. When he could, the boy would observe the gods on their thrones and watch them interact with each other. Ares and Aphrodite were sitting on opposite ends of the room, but they would stare at each other in a way that made the boy envious. Ares’ ferocious black eyes would soften, and Aphrodites’ face would glow with an appealing pink color. The boy would look over at Hephaestus, knowing the stories. The rough looking man did not look angry though. He just looked deeply sad.   
Then finally, Zues and Hera arrived.   
They appeared out of thin air in front of their thrones, and the entire crowd gasped at the sight. At one glance the boy knew his sketchbooks would be filled with images of the god and his wife, and they would never be able to replicate the glory of the two figures standing before him. The god and goddess were a stark contrast to each other, an artist’s playground in light and dark, and the boy could not pull his gaze away from them.   
Zues was tall, taller than any of the other gods, even in his mortal form. And he was massive, he could easily crush anyone who went against him. His skin was almost onyx colored, it reminded the boy of the world at midnight, with only the stars to light his way through the palace halls. His hair and beard were the same white opal color as his throne, with rainbow flecks of color running through it. It had been rolled into dreadlocks, and they were held back with a simple corded gold rope. The same type of rope that belted his night colored toga around his waist. His eyes were a cloudy white color that almost faded into the actual white of his eye. And though they looked unseeing, when his gaze passed over the boy he felt it as if a wind had just blown across the room. And although he was beautiful, he was almost alien in his beauty.   
Beside him stood Hera, almost dwarfed by the size of her husband, but still taller than the rest of the goddesses. She had small, delicate features with a slightly upturned nose. And she was pale, paler so beside the dark skin of her husband. Her hair was long, reaching well past her waist in soft ringlets, and it was a fiery red color that brought out the red freckles scattered across her face and arms. Her hair was held back by a silver circlet that rested one delicate diamond onto her forehead, matching her throne. The silver circlet matched the silver bands she had around both of her arms, and it complimented the long, bright white gown she was wearing.   
They were amazing, enormous, towering over the company of humans that had been invited to their hallowed hall. To Olympus. The boy was humbled by them. He dropped to his knees and bowed low, and the rest of the King’s procession followed suit. They stayed that way for what seemed like forever, until the king of the gods spoke.   
“Welcome, to Olympus.”the god said, his voice thundering through the pavilion. The boy could feel the vibrations of it in his bones, “tonight is a beautiful night. My family, my friends, my creations, all here to celebrate the accomplishments of your King.”   
The boy glanced at the king who was a few feet away, bowing at the foot of Zues. He was not trembling, and the boy felt respect and even pride in his king for this show of strength in front of so much might.   
“But that is not all.” this time it was Hera who spoke. With a voice deep and rich with indulgence, “Tonight we will also be revealing two new gods of Olympus, to you, our children, the first one hundred mortals to meet the newest additions to our pantheon.” she smiled, and it glowed.   
“Our Titan, lord and commander of the chariot of the Sun, has passed on his title to two of….his children.” Hera continued, the hesitation evident in her voice when describing the children of Helios. The boy could not be sure, but he almost heard anger in her voice. He looked up and saw her glance over at Zues, who was steadfastly looking ahead.   
It was a brief pause, but then Hera began again, “Please welcome the goddess of the hunt, of nature in all its wildness, and caretaker of the moon, Artemis.”   
The crowd of humans looked around wildly as they stood up, eager to get a first look at the newest goddess in the pantheon. She emerged from behind Zues’s throne, and she shone like a silver dagger beside the darkness of her King. Artemis was a pale white that glowed silver like the moon. Her hair was long and parted in the middle. The boy thought it was a trick of the light, but the longer he looked the more he realized her hair was the bright silver white of the moon itself. Her eyes were silver as well. And whereas Hermes’ eyes looked around with the sharpness of wit, Artemis’ eyes were as focussed as an arrow in flight. She carried a quiver of arrows on her back, with a longbow grasped in her right hand. When he saw it the boy knew without a doubt that whatever Artemis aimed at with her arrows, she would not miss.   
“Thank you for the warm welcome.” she said, her voice was cool and low. It made the boy think of the full moon reflecting off the ocean.   
The crowd waited with baited breath to see if she would say anything more, but it seemed Artemis was a goddess of few words. She sat on the remaining silver throne and did not speak further.   
When the crowd quieted down Zues continued by introducing the newest god, “Please welcome the brother of Artemis, the god of music, light, and prophecy. The new charioteer of the Sun, Apollo.”   
As with Artemis it took Apollo a moment to appear, and when he did he did so from the back of the pavilion, near to where Hestia had emerged hours ago. The crowd had to part for Apollo to make his way through, and as he did the boy could hear the gasps and giggles from the people, and like the drawing of a curtain, the crowd parted and Apollo was revealed. And the boy could no longer breathe.   
Apollo was ...magnificent. Golden, shining, breathtaking. The boy could not stop staring. Apollo’s mortal form was young, young enough to have been a boy in court. But he was nothing like the boys in court. His skin was golden brown, and it shone like the sun. Warm and bright. The boy wanted nothing more than to feel that warmth on his own skin. He was holding a lyre and playing it softly, an almost twinkling tune, somehow. His hair looked white, as if it had been bleached by the sun itself. He wore a bright white tunic, belted simply at the waist with normal rope. He turned his head towards the boy and time itself slowed to a crawl.  
The god’s eyes. They were green. Green like the grass under the trees where the boy would sit and sketch. Green like the sea on a perfect day. Green like emeralds. Rich and deep, light and playful, all at once. The boy locked eyes with Apollo and it seemed as if time had frozen to a stop. He watched as the bright smile on Apollo’s face faded, and he fell deeper and deeper into his eyes. And within them he could see a simple curiosity. No fury, no lust. Just curiosity. And the boy did not look away.   
Then time resumed, Apollo passed him and the boy’s gaze followed him all the way to his throne. He stood, of course, in front of the golden throne that shone brighter than the others.   
When he spoke his voice sounded raspy, and low. A voice that the boy knew would sound lovely when raised in song, “Hello, I am Apollo. I look forward to our many days together.” on the last words the boy could swear the god’s eyes had touched on his own within the crowd, but he could not be sure. The god smiled, slowly and surely as he sat down on his throne. A god of few words it seemed, just like his sister.   
As he sat down Hera took her seat as well, so all the gods had been seated except for Zues. He looked around the pavilion at the gathering of humans and the boy could not decipher his gaze. It seemed to be on the edge between amusement and a forced aloofness. The boy knew that the god of the sky was not immune to the wiles of mortal men and women, and he wondered what the god would be thinking as he looked down on them all.   
“Your night may now truly begin, my mortals. Enjoy.” and with that Zues sat down upon his white opal throne, and the party recommenced.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. My. Goodness am I excited about this chapter. Thank you to everyone who's been reading! I've literally never posted my work like this so I am so so so very appreciative of anyone who has read it. Please feel free to leave comments, or critiques. I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> Enjoy!!!

The mortals resumed their exploration of the food and drink that had been provided by the gods, but it was more difficult now that said gods were actually sitting and watching them. After a little while, Athena and Aphrodite came down from their thrones to walk amongst them and make conversation. As did Hestia, and Demeter.   
It was glorious, and though it had been hours since the procession had arrived it felt as if they party had just begun. Satyrs had joined the humans, and the unseen music had grown to such a volume the boy could hear it pulsing through the floor. The party was at its peak now. The wine the gods had provided had obviously had an effect on the humans and there were now many spaces in the pavilion taken up by a dancing crowd. The boy could feel the effects from the very small amount of wine he had had, and everything in the pavilion seemed to have a slight glow to it.   
The only person who didn’t seem changed at all was his father, and it frustrated the boy. How could even his father, as cold as he was, not be affected by being surrounded by the beautiful and terrifying gods they worshipped? It was almost overwhelming.   
The boy had been staying near the pillars on the edge of the room. He had no desire to dance with any of the people that the king had brought here. He was enjoying himself by watching, committing this night to memory so that he could draw it out and preserve it for himself.   
But after a long time of watching people dance, the boy began to grow bored. Olympus was magnificent, the gods even more so, but the boy wished to revisit the marbled pathway that brought them here. To look out over the edges and down onto the different landscapes Olympus revealed to him. And so, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure his father was duly distracted by one of the other nobles, he turned around a pillar and began a quiet quest away from the pavilion.  
The sounds of the people and music slowly faded behind him, and he found himself walking down the now familiar marble floor. The sky above the boy kept morphing between an endless night filled with stars, and the bright open blue of spring he loved so much. Over the edges of the pathway he could see down down down into the ocean, outwards towards the mountains, and even onto the island where his father’s most infamous creation lay. It took a moment for him to adjust to the constant transition from light to dark and back again. But eventually it had a calming effect on him. He could still feel the wine buzzing through his veins. Which is why when he heard an already familiar voice behind him, he thought it was a trick of his imagination.   
“Well, hello there.” he heard Apollo say. His voice was low, even raspier than before, and already the boy could tell there was a smile in it.   
He turned quickly to face the god and opened his mouth, but upon looking at Apollo he found he had no words. Before, there had been at least ten people between him and the god, but there was nothing between them now.   
The gods’ skin looked utterly sun kissed, tanned a perfectly even golden color. The glow on him was only slightly muted, and the boy wondered if that was for his sake, and then he wondered why the new god of the sun would do that for him. His bright, emerald eyes were as direct and just as curious as they had been when the boy had first seen them. But from this short distance away he could also see that they were flecked with gold. Apollo’s cheekbones were high, and when the god tilted his head to the side with curiosity, the boy could see that they were brushed with gold. The boy found himself staring at the god’s lips. They were full, and even, and a delicious pale pink color the boy had never seen before.   
Apollo laughed at the boy’s inability to reply, “Unable to speak? I didn’t think this would happen for at least a little while. But I suppose I should get used to making beautiful boys speechless.” he had walked closer to the boy as he spoke, his smile widening even more.   
The boy found himself able to speak, “Who…?” he was able to say, but his voice sounded rusty, unused.   
Now the god looked confused, his eyebrows drawn together with perplexity, “Were you not in the room when I was introduced? I could’ve sworn I saw your pretty brown eyes in there when I walked in.”   
The word “pretty” had never been directed at the boy, much less from a god, and he could feel a flush crawling up his neck. But slowly he was adjusting to the fact that Apollo was speaking to him, and this time he was able to form a full sentence when he spoke, “No, I meant...who - I mean, which beautiful boys do you speak of, my lord?”   
Apollo stared at him for a long time, analyzing him. The boy watched as Apollo’s eyes traced his figure and he felt his knees grow weak. He had never been looked at so closely. Never been examined so thoroughly. He wondered if the god liked what he saw.   
Finally the god’s beautiful green eyes returned their gaze to the boy’s face. They looked different now. Warmer.   
“Why, you of course.” Apollo said, simply. He stepped even closer, and now the god was nothing but an arms length away. He was tall. The boy had to tilt his chin upwards to stare into the god’s face.   
The boy gasped in shock. The moment he and the god had shared in the pavilion had been real. But the boy began to feel something else. Something he didn’t know he could feel towards the gods. Anger.   
He had heard the stories of Zues, of Posiedon, of Aphrodite, and all the others. How the gods played with the mortals they claimed to love. How they raped, tricked, and toyed with the humans on the ground beneath Olympus. The boy did not wish to be another nameless mortal the gods could add to their list of mistakes. And the confidence with which Apollo approached him made him feel as if this were a performance Apollo had done many times; with the boy being nothing more than a new player.  
“Thank you. That is very flattering, my lord. But if you’ll excuse me my father will have been wondering where I’ve gone off to. I must return to the party.” the anger inside him made the boy’s voice strong, and he saw Apollo’s eyes widen in surprise.   
After a moment of hesitation, the boy made his move to go. Apollo reached up quickly and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. His hand was warm, almost unpleasantly so. But the heat from it made goosebumps of exhilaration rise on the boy’s arm. He looked up into the god’s face and the expression he found there made him freeze where he stood. Apollo’s eyes were softer now. Confused. The confidence that had been so evident before had faded.  
“I do not know what I have done to offend you, but please, keep me company. I can assure you that as long as you are with me your father will not be worrying about where you are.” the god said softly, his voice sounding husky now that he was speaking more quietly. The confident arrogance of a god was still evident in his words, but it was muted now.   
The boy was still vexed by the thought of this being just another game to this god. And like his sketches, he would not hide his anger. “I am not interested in being added to a collection.” said the boy. He was being incredibly bold, he knew. This was a god, after all. But something about this night was making him defiant. Unpliable. Maybe it was his father. Now that the boy knew as long as he remained in his father’s control he would never get to live the life he wanted, he had the desire to fight back. There was no more waiting for things to unfold. They already had.   
Apollo flinched away from the boy, removing his hand. The boy could feel the absence of it like a cool wind. The god looked distressed now, which was strange. Could gods feel distressed?   
Apollo’s lips were closed tightly, his brow furrowed. He looked sorrowful, but cross. “Only one real day of being a god and already rumors are spreading.” he said. There was a deep bitterness in his voice, and his fists were clenched at his sides, “I suppose it’s fair. Zeus can’t keep his hands off anyone, Posiedon and Athena turned that poor, poor woman into a gorgon,” Apollo began to pace rapidly, his demeanor becoming more and more animated as he began to speak, “And though their love is true, Hades still had to trap a woman to get her to marry him. I wanted to be different. I have been...trying to be different than the rest of my family.” he stopped pacing and looked at the boy.   
“I have made mistakes. The gods have made mistakes. I think I am the only god who will admit that this is so. And I do not think I am done making them now that I have my own throne.” the god’s voice was thick with emotion. He was staring intensely into the boys eyes, and the boy could see that he was scared. Of what?  
“But please, do not judge me by their actions. I am only doing my best.” Apollo stopped speaking, and he seemed drained. He still glowed, softly now. It reminded the boy of sunsets. Throughout the god’s rant the boys anger sluiced away. Apollo seemed less of a god, and more of a young man being thrust into power beyond his own understanding. The boy could not judge him for wanting to make connections of his own.   
The boy walked up to the god, the one who glowed like the sun, and stared into his eyes.   
“Let’s sit,” the boy said, “we can talk for awhile.” 

They sat on the marble floor, warmed by wine and the heat coming off of the young sun god. The sky faded from blue to black and back again, but the soft glow emanating from Apollo never wavered.   
Slowly the two became comfortable with each other. Treading on equal ground throughout the conversation. The god was bright, quicksilver with his wit and flirtatious with his smiles. The boy was enamored by him.   
But the god, oh, the god. He was slowly, quietly, steadily being pulled in by the small, dark boy. Whose eyes were soft and dark like the earth, with something in them that quieted the gods beating heart. He was gentle and kind; an artist. The god always knew when someone was an artist. With a voice that was low, and musical like a stream.   
They sat cross legged facing each other, their knees touching. The boy smiled in response to a flirtatious comment, and the god quieted for a moment. He frowned in confusion and said, “How is a wonderful young man like you not yet married? There must be many a maiden in your palace awaiting a place at your side.”   
The boy paused, his smile slowly fading away, and said simply, “They would not want me, even if I wanted them.”  
“Ah,” the god said, an understanding look in his eyes, “they would get jealous of all the boys?” he asked with a smile, to soften it.   
“Their eyes…”, the boy said, his eyes growing clouded with memories, “I can’t help it.”   
The look on the boy’s face made Apollo’s heart leap. It shone from within with a pure hope, a wanting of something just out of reach. The god reached out and laid a hand on the boy’s knee and immediately the boy’s eyes cleared.  
The god’s eyes were luminous, staring directly into the boy’s gaze with intention, and he said, “Neither can I.”   
The boy smiled as bright as the sun itself, and the god had to catch his breath at the sight of it. 

The god had been right, the boys father had not come searching for him. The boy was sure now that whenever he was in the presence of Apollo, only those allowed to find them would do so. It felt as if they had been sitting in this hallway for hours, and the boy believed some kind of magic was being used to keep the time from passing in Olympus as it would on Earth.   
So the boy did not worry. He did not worry about time, his father, or his own world. He did not worry when the god moved closer. When the gods skin touched his own. And when they laid down side by side, shoulders grazing, to look up at the ever changing sky of Olympus, the boy felt calmer than he ever had before.   
He looked up into the sky. Watching the stars appear and fade and appear again. The boy and the god had grown silent. But the boy was content. He had spoken to Apollo for longer and more openly then he had with anyone else in his life and this moment of silence was a welcome reprieve. He was trying to accept everything that was happening around him. Trying to take it all in as it went by. The sky above him, the cold marble beneath him, and the astounding presence of the sun god beside him. The gods warm skin was just barely touching his, but it warmed him all the same.   
Now that the conversation had quieted the boy could think. He thought about how the events of this night were overwhelming. He could suddenly feel a vast amount of emotions building in his chest, and there were too many to try and name them all. He felt profoundly happy to have come here. To have seen all that he had seen. He felt small. The presence of the gods in the pavilion being so large, so all consuming. And he felt deeply, deeply sad. He knew this night would not last forever. Eventually the god and the boy would have to return to the others and the night would end. The boy would go back down to Earth, back to his sketchbooks and his daydreams, and to a life he did not want to lead.   
But more than all that was the despair he felt at the thought of having to leave Apollo behind. The god listened, he understood. He was alive, and glowing, and warm in a way the boy had never seen before in all of his days. The thought of leaving that behind him, to go back to the palace, back to the boys in court who only dared to look at him for a moment and never see this beautiful god again? It was enough to make him weep.   
He heard a gasp from beside him, and realized that tears had in fact begun to quietly fall from his eyes.   
“Are you alright?” Apollo asked from where he lay, with a deep concern.   
The boy turned his head to look at him. He knew his sadness would be evident on his face so he did not bother with a lie, “No.”, he said, his voice already thick with tears, “this has been the most wonderful night of my life. How am I supposed to leave this…,” he hesitated, “how am I supposed to leave you behind?”   
The sky was full of stars above them, and Apollo could see all of them reflected in the dark, dark eyes of the mortal boy. The stars of all the worlds were trapped within this boys eyes, and the god knew he had never - and would never - see anything as beautiful as this.   
Apollo’s body moved of its own accord, and before he could stop himself, before he could think, he was kissing the beautiful, dark, mortal boy.   
The boy froze, but only for a moment. The god’s lips were soft, and warm, and unhurried. The boy and the god kissed slowly, the heat rising between them like the sun over the ocean. The god’s hand was in his hair and the heat from it made a shiver go down his spine. Apollo had turned and had raised himself up on his free arm, his body pressing into the boy deliciously. The boy brought his hands up and around the god’s torso and could feel the muscle rippling beneath the sun warmed skin. Never, in all of his life, had he dreamed of something as wonderful as this.   
Eventually, Apollo pulled away. He was slightly out of breath. The boy opened his eyes to see the god staring at him, a humorous glint in his emerald gaze.   
“Ah, I am being a terrible host. I haven’t even asked you your name.” he said, his voice lilting with amusement.   
“Go on then.” said the boy through a giddy smile.   
Apollo brushed a lock of hair out of the boy’s eyes and smiled affectionately, “May I ask your name, my esteemed mortal guest?” he asked, imitating the mischievous voice of Hermes.   
The boy laughed softly, and nodded. He looked up at the god of the sun, shining so brightly above him, and said,   
“Icarus.”


End file.
